


Destiny Pentober Day 4 - Jumpship

by Legacy_Fireteam



Series: Destiny Pentober 2020 - Legacy Fireteam [4]
Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Festival of the Lost (Destiny), Gen, Halloween, Pentober
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:13:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26827915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Legacy_Fireteam/pseuds/Legacy_Fireteam
Summary: Tensions rise in the Nessus nighttime air as living bulwark Bishop-22 and his distant Ghost, Hannibal, explore the wreckage of the Exodus Black for scavenged parts.
Relationships: Ghost & Guardian (Destiny), Male Guardian & Ghost
Series: Destiny Pentober 2020 - Legacy Fireteam [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1950664





	Destiny Pentober Day 4 - Jumpship

#  Jumpship 

###  _Written by Grayson_

Night had begun to make itself known at the edges of Nessus’s star-speckled sky, the sunset waning into redder and redder tinges of murky, warm horizon. Fallen scavengers readied their hunting parties, Ether-tinged eyes surveying the landscape with nervous anticipation. Wire rifles hummed with charge, Pike engines revved up lightly and calmed once more as Dregs held their ground along chunks of the wrecked Exodus Black. The Vex were far from here, for now. There was no metallic boogeyman for them to be worried about. Save one, that is.  
  
Bishop’s pace quickened. The Fallen had long since learned not to mess with their gigantic intruder - he wouldn’t attack them if they didn’t attack him, and those encounters never went well for the Fallen involved - yet he knew that if they were hungry enough, angry enough...they would go after him all the same. He couldn’t afford to lose sight of his goal, and he was running out of daylight. Before he could take another step, however, his gaze shot up towards the wreckage. A bolt of pure Arc energy had stung its way through the air, crackling against the ground near his feet with a bang and burning a mark into the soil; a warning.  
  
The line was drawn, and understood. Bishop hefted his pack over his shoulder with a quiet grumble and resumed his pace forward.  
  
As the hours continued to tick by, darkness began to take over the surrounding area. Bishop’s photoreceptors blinked only every few minutes, subtly passing over the ridges beside him with a violet glow. The Fallen had kept tracking him. Even doing their best to stay hidden, he knew they were there. Not much could get past him, and at this distance he could watch their movements safely. Their presence wasn’t his concern, however. It was the question of why that worried him. They hadn’t been this bold in a long time.  
  
“Hannibal. Any chance they could know what I’m after?”  
The silence that followed was deafening. Bishop’s Ghost floated next to him without a word, nothing but the gentle whirr of his internal mechanisms to punctuate the question.  
The Titan sighed and shook his head, locking his face forward and striding once more towards his goal.  
“Why do I even bother anymore? You don’t have a damn thing to say, do you?”  
Hannibal indeed said nothing, but continued to keep pace with his Guardian and lit the way as much as he could. There was nothing in the way of gratitude shared between either parties. At this point, it was nothing but survival.  
  
The darkness pitched, buckled, and caved in with an awfully loud _crash_ of metal on metal as the light of Hannibal’s beam cut into the room before them. Bishop took his hands off the all but destroyed doorway, the metal forever remembering them in the shape of its brand-new dents. His eyes scanned the room, massive boots taking one step, then another. Nothing hostile to be found.  
  
Brushing dust and moss off ancient, decrepit computer screens and desktops, Bishop quickly found confirmation of his prize and grinned. The manifest number etched into the console was correct; this would be the storage room for ionic cables and warp drives. The most valuable room in the whole of the Black, at least for his purposes. The containers were huge, the locks solid as steel and just about unbreakable to any man.  
Bishop shattered one, then the other, hefting the cables out of their chest and into his pack with little effort. The warp drives followed just as easily, with careful precision. After all, they had to stay stable on the long trek home, and anything could happen between here and the hovel he had carved out near the Black’s command bridge. He gripped the strings tight and pulled, lines snapped taught and his cargo fully secured.  
  
As he lifted the pack over his shoulder once more, Bishop looked behind him to stare down his Ghost. Hannibal turned his light off, and the purple glow of the Exo’s internal workings was once again alone in the night air.  
“You know, this is the last piece I need. These two components will let me take off, and we’ll be off this nightmare of a planet once and for all.”  
Hannibal remained silent, betraying no emotion whatsoever in his expression. Bishop, however, frowned and tightened his grip on the desk to his side, the metal groaning and giving way against his hand.  
“You woke me up, damnit. You’re the one who drafted me into this war. I wanted _no part of this!"_  
Anger rippled through his voice, the tension rising as Hannibal began to back away.  
“I’m doing what you _asked_ of me! You told me people need my help, need both of us. How do I know that’s true? How do I know I’m not throwing my life away just to die at the hands of more things like _them?"_   
  
The Titan swiveled and waved his hand towards the door, the night, where countless eyes watched and waited. His own eyes returned to Hannibal a moment later, the fire in them unmistakeable. He was furious, and that could be exceptionally dangerous. Even for his Ghost.  
  
Bishop tightened his grip, lifting the desk with a single hand and bringing it together with his other in a sickening _crunch_ , shards of metallic plating spun to all angles of the room. Hannibal frantically dashed behind a pillar, his flight speed barely enough to make it out of harm’s way. Bishop slammed the broken desk into the ground. It was balled up rather neatly, at least what of it hadn’t been completely scattered by the force of the initial impact. He locked eyes with Hannibal again, the emotionless slate of his single eye now a mask of sheer terror.  
  
“As far as I can tell, you’ve done nothing but nearly get me killed, time and time again, and you won’t even say _why_ anymore. You just stopped talking to me! You were _supposed_ to be _MY_ _FRIEND_ , _DAMNIT!!!"_   
  
Hannibal hung in the air before Bishop, silent. Still not a word. Nothing to comfort, nothing to console...just silence.  
  
The Titan stood in disbelief, anger, frustration...and all his emotions funneled into a single point of helplessness. He chuckled to himself and begrudgingly lifted the pack, turning away from his Ghost.  
“Come on, Hannibal. Your Traveler awaits, right? Gotta make sure we follow the light.”  
He stepped over the threshold and back out into the open air, shaking his head in quiet acceptance.  
  
Another arc bolt came to a whizzing halt directly under Bishop’s left eye socket. The Exo’s head was thrown backwards and he stumbled into the doorframe, struggling to keep his pack on his shoulder. Hannibal whizzed over to him, and was barely saved by a massive metal hand, shielding him from another shot that moved even quicker than the last. Bishop quietly set his pack down, pulling Hannibal close to his chest and sticking him alongside the ion cables within as the Fallen began to advance, hoping they had managed to do some damage. Hannibal strained against Bishop’s hand as the bag began to close, and the Titan looked down on him with a disgustingly pleased grin.  
“Oh so now you want to help me, eh? Now that you know I’m on my way to Earth.”  
He coughed quietly, then stood to his full height, matching the Captain that lunged towards him. The movement was sudden, vicious, and the reaction even more so. Bishop grabbed the arc blades and snapped both in two before delivering a brutal kick to the Captain’s sternum, keeping a firm grip on the shattered blades while he did. As the Captain stumbled backwards, choking on air and Ether, Bishop plunged the jagged remnants into his assailant’s stomach. The Captain clutched at his chest weakly, falling first to his knees, then flat on his face as that same Ether began to pool around his body. Bishop’s left eye gleamed in the dark, its light flickering and cracked but still very much alive with that fire Hannibal had seen just minutes before.  
  
He beamed with happiness as the Fallen began to converge on his location. Just before he closed the pack to meet the rest, he spoke to his Ghost with what would be the last bit of emotion they’d share for a very long time.  
“You’ll guide me, Hannibal. I know you will. The ship will carry me as soon as we finish it. But let’s get one thing straight.”  
The Titan cracked his knuckles and slammed his fists together, getting into a fighting stance as Arc bolts began to fly past him, Dregs rushing at him with war cries just leaving their starving throats.  
  
“My own hands, and nothing else, will bring me home.”


End file.
